


dry

by Spiesbian



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Fever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Fic, poor bedside manner, started as a character study and went into angst kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 12:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18756160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiesbian/pseuds/Spiesbian
Summary: Curt gets sick on a mission, and Owen freaks out.





	dry

**Author's Note:**

> it only makes a brief appearance, but I hc that curt is really good at learning other languages so like. yea don't be confused.

Curt had a very strange relationship with his job. It took Owen a very long time to recognize, but now it was hard _not_ to notice. He may be reckless and not think his actions fully through before making them, but he cared a lot. Like, too much, actually. A lot of the time his impulsiveness seemed a lot more involuntary than being plain ignorant. 

Curt wanted excitement, but he _needed_ to succeed. Sometimes he'd endanger himself, and less occasionally others, to get the job done. Owen suspected it when Curt nearly took a knife in between his ribs in Spain, confirmed it when he kept going on the mission when his intestines were almost falling out of the cut in his stomach in Lebanon. 

There were a few theories behind this. The first was that Owen was simply over analyzing things, but that was fairly unlikely. He was a spy, part of his job was being able to read people. The second was that he was trying to prove something to someone. More possible, but Owen couldn't think of anyone. Curt remained rather distant with his mother, and he knew for a fact that he himself was the only other figure that Curt had any resemblance of a close relationship. Owen certainly hoped that Curt didn't feel the need to prove himself to him.

The final theory, and the most probable in Owen's opinion, was a healthy (or rather, unhealthy) fear of Cynthia Houston. It was entirely understandable, Owen himself didn't dare cross her. It would be like taking a bat to a beehive armed with nuclear weapons. He understood her attitude. Her position was not exactly an easy one for a woman to obtain, and even harder to keep. But her… _Tough_ love could sometimes come off as overbearing.

Or it could be none of the above. As much as Owen wished, he couldn't participate very much in Curt's life outside of their job. It was too risky for them, seen as suspicious by watching eyes. There could be some completely different variable that he just wasn't aware of.

Which brought him to now. Curt looked horrible. He was pale, shaking, and dropping clothes as he tried to load them into a duffel bag sitting on the bed. All of this, and he was still fucking packing for the mission.

“Curt, don’t you think you should lie down?” Owen asked gently.

“No,” He said shakily. “I’m okay.”

“You know that we don’t have to leave for a couple more hours, love.”

“I need to be prepared otherwise I’m going to fuck it up and if I fuck it up then everything falls apart.” Curt gasped as the knife in his hands clattered to the ground. Owen swept in and picked it up before he could start lean over.

“I know, I know, doll. Just sit down for a bit for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Curt breathed, stumbling back and nearly collapsing into the other bed. He folded his hands in his lap, staring very intently at a spot on the floor. Owen sat next to him, rubbing slow circles into his back. He wanted to tell Curt to just go to sleep, but that would only make him more adamant about going on the mission. 

“I feel like shit,” Curt mumbled.

“I know.”

“‘Can’t stop though. I’ve got to do this.”

“You don’t, really,” Owen tried to offer. Curt shook his head and leaned forward to put his head in between his knees.

Coughing broke the silence around them. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know?”

“And why is that?”

“You’re too soft on me. ‘llows me to be lazy. Cynthia hates that.”

Owen stuttered in his methodical movements, just for an instant. “I’d say the opposite, dear. I should be gentler with you.”

“Don’t.” Curt looked over from between his fingers. “You shouldn’t. I don’t deserve that.”

“Why?”

“...I don’t know.”

Curt tried to stand up again, swaying dangerously on his feet. “I’m going to finish packing.”

Owen shouldn’t let him do that.

“Okay.”

* * *

Owen had never hated himself more than that mission. Curt crumpled against the wall, eyes screwed shut and a thin sheen of sweat over his face. He never should have let this happen, it was a danger to both of them. 

“We’re getting out of here,” Owen hissed.

“No, no, no, no, no, no…” Curt’s lips moved as he silently repeated the word a few more times just for good measure. “We’re not done. ‘nother file.”

“Neither of us are getting very far with you in this condition.” Owen chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I can’t believe I let this happen.”

“It’s not _your_ fault, it’s _mine_.” Curt whispered. “Mine.”

Owen stalked over and placed a hand over Curt’s forehead. The way he leaned into the touch was almost heartwarming, but the searing heat underneath it was definitely not. Jesus, how had it gotten so bad so fast? Owen supposed that running around had not helped the situation at all. 

“I don’t know what problem you have, but we have to leave.” He held up the folder they’d retrieved earlier. “This will be enough that we won’t get our asses handed to us, and maybe we can come back after you’ve gotten better.”

“But I’m better right now!”

“Shh, Curt! Someone will hear you!” Owen pursed his lips, calculating the many ways this could go wrong. “Look, you can either leave with me willingly or I can tranquilize you and carry your ass over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

“I'll… I'll go with you.”

Owen nodded and helped straighten Curt off the wall. Leading him through the compound was an endeavor all its own. Curt kept trying to stop and lean against something, and he was constant muttering something under his breath. Owen wasn't sure what it was, but it was not helping them keep cover.

They got out without a hitch (well, one man ended up with a bullet between his eyes but it wasn't Owen or Curt, so it was a win). Owen grabbed Curt by the shoulders and maneuvered him to the passenger seat when he tried to reach for the driver’s side. That began their hour and a half drive back to the hotel. The long distance was policy for track covering reasons.

Curt fell asleep at least halfway through the drive, forehead rested against the window. Outside was nothing but inky darkness and the small patch of road lit of by the headlights. Owen very quickly fell into a negative spiral in the oppressive silence. It was his fault Curt's conditioned had worsened so much, if he had just buckled down and forced him to stay at the hotel it would have been fine. Or, hell, he could have tranquilizer him then and then gone on the mission by himself. Anything to have prevented this.

He pulled up in the front, gently shaking Curt awake.

“No,” Curt groaned. 

“We just have to get inside, yea? Then you can sleep.”

Owen slipped out and crossed to the passenger side. Curt nearly keeled over when he opened the door, but he managed to catch him with one arm. After that it was just a matter of getting him to the elevator. With the amount that Curt was leaning on him, Owen was more carrying the other spy than anything else.

When they reached their room, Curt started leaning forward at a precarious angle. Owen rushed to get him to the bed before that happened.

“Right, you take off your shoes while I go get something,” Owen said. Curt nodded wordlessly, and he took that as good enough.

He went into the bathroom and grabbed one of the complimentary washcloths. Running it under cold water, Owen then squeezed out as much as he could do it was just barely damp. When we went back he found Curt sprawled out across the bed, shivering violently. At least his shoes were off.

“Come here,” Owen sat on the edge, trying to straighten him out just a bit to make this easier. He ended up with Curt's head half cradled in his lap as he used the washcloth to wipe away the sweat.

“‘m sorry,” Curt wheezed.

“There's no need to apologize, you're doing you best.”

“‘m not. I never do.”

Owen elected not to respond to that. He worked in silence, eventually just holding the cloth to Curt's forehead in hopes it would cool him down. The heat radiating off of him was uncomfortable for _Owen_ , he couldn't imagine how Curt felt.

Once he fell asleep again, Owen carefully lifted him off his lap and onto one of the pillows. It was probably more comfortable for him anyways. Owen kicked off his shoes and slipped into the other bed. Tonight was probably not the best night to share.

* * *

Owen woke up long before Curt did, not that he really did anything during that time besides worry to the point of getting a headache. It was probably okay. Curt would wake up having slept off most of the sickness and then they could go home.

He was in the bathroom throwing water onto his face when he heard a disconcerting thud from the other room. Ever the cautious one, he grabbed one of the knives he and Curt had worked to scatter across the hotel room earlier, slowly moving back outside. The ball of tension between Owen’s shoulder blades slipped away when he didn’t see an intruder, but seeing Curt in a heap on the floor did not help his anxiety.

“Curt!” He set the blade down on the nearest surface and rushed over to help him up.

“Please don't-!” Curt made a noise that sounded like a cross between a wheeze and a sob. “Don't touch me.”

“Okay. No problem.” Owen drew back his hands. “What are you doing on the floor?”

“I’m freezing.” He slowly sat up, resting against the edge of the bed. “Was trying to get your jacket.”

Owen glanced at the jacket he’d thrown on his bed earlier. “Oh, Curt, you can’t put on too many layers or you’ll overheat, you have a fever.”

“But ‘m so _cold_.”

“I get it,” He hesitated. “Can you get back into bed? I don’t want to touch you but…”

Curt nodded, hauling himself up with a clear amount of tremendous effort. Owen almost swooped in to help him when he slipped, but Curt waved him away. “I can do it,” he insisted.

He waited until Curt had finally settled down, eyes half-lidded and hands shaking. “How do you feel compared to yesterday?”

“Worse.”

“Ah.” That was the opposite of good. “I’m going to be just over here, okay? Tell me if you need anything.”

Owen almost reached over to pat Curt’s shoulder, then stopped short when he remembered. He went back over to his own bed, pulled a copy of _Dorian Gray_ from his bag and nestled in to get some reading done. That was a silver lining amongst this grey cloud of a situation, at least. It had probably been months since Owen was last able to get any real reading done. 

In hindsight, it should not have taken him hours to do something. Another thump brought him out of his book. Owen glanced at the clock. Shit, he didn’t realize three hours had already gone by. He started to roll out of bed.

“Look, love, I know you feel cold but it’s just your fever and you can’t-” Owen stopped. Curt looked… rather unconscious. He should have woken up if he’d fallen out of bed, right? Owen quickly knelt down next to him, patting his face and withdrawing his hand just as fast as he realized how _hot_ his skin was. “Curt? _Curt?!”_

He shook Curt’s shoulder, first gingerly and then desperately after it didn’t work. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening! _“Curt!”_

Curt made a mumbling noise, speech so slurred it took Owen a full few seconds to realize that he was speaking German and not English. “I can’t understand you, speak English you multilingual asshole!”

_“Stop.”_ Curt whined. Owen stopped shaking him, heart still racing. 

“What’s wrong? What do you feel?”

“Dry.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , Owen was an idiot. What kind of dumbass didn’t give a person with a fever water? 

“Okay, okay, uh..” He scrambled over to one of this bags and pulled out a water bottle. “Here you go.”

Curt's hands were shaking so violently Owen had to help him hold the bottle without dropping it. His chest ached at how his negligence had allowed his condition to worsen so much. 

“We gotta go back,” Curt gasped when he finished.

“I- we _what?”_

“We didn't complete it, I can't-” He tried to get up, collapsing into Owen's arms not even part of the way up. “I can't fail, please, you have to let me go back.”

Alright, so he was delusional. Well, more than earlier. “You're not going anywhere like this.”

The tears started spilling over, and Owen stopped breathing right. “No, I can do it. I just have to… Have to…”

He kept Curt anchored down. It wasn't too hard, in his current state. Owen suspected that he hated being so weak, but this was not the time to humor him. He just tried to run his fingers through his hair to calm him down.

Curt drifted in and out of semi-conscious states. In some he'd respond to Owen, albeit in single words and noises, but in most in was completely despondent. He wanted to move him back to the bed, but felt like he'd break him if he did. He'd already fucked up this much, hadn't he? 

Still, they couldn't stay on the floor forever. Owen scooped Curt up as well as he could. It was unrealistic, but it almost seemed as if Curt had grown smaller throughout this whole mess.

“Can't breathe,” Curt groaned as he was settled into the covers.

“I know.” Owen leaned down and picked up the water bottle “Just drink this.”

* * *

The following hours had been hell, for both of them. At certain points Owen was almost sure he was going to die. He didn't sleep at all for fear when he woke up he'd be gone. The next morning when Curt woke up he was clearly feeling better, at least enough to string full sentences together. They both packed their things. Now that he was well enough to travel, a hotel room was not the best environment for recovery.

They never spoke of it again, even though Owen had confirmed his suspicions.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, that's been sitting in my drive since march and i finally finished it because the saf discord was freaking out. Also titles are not my strong point and you fuckers get to deal with that. Catch my saf tumblr @spiesbian
> 
> Kudos are great but comments are even better.


End file.
